


Basic Training

by tei



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: CrossFit, M/M, Military Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-16
Updated: 2018-07-16
Packaged: 2019-06-11 14:39:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15317682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tei/pseuds/tei
Summary: Sherlock asked a few too many questions about boot camp. John decided to show, not tell.





	Basic Training

**Author's Note:**

> Why yes, I did write this ficlet entirely in my head during a WOD.

_“This is ridiculous,”_ Sherlock attempted to hiss. 

It came out more as “hiissrickulissss.” John grinned as he looked over at his flatmate. Sherlock’s shoulders were slumped, his lush curls dripping with sweat and his pale face quickly taking on a rosy pink. Okay, maybe that was a lover’s generosity-- an unattractive beet red was probably a more accurate description. 

“Keep going,” said John, dropping his belly back down to the floor for his last three burpees of the set. “You don’t want Max to come back over here to encourage you, do you?”

Sherlock made a sound that was suspiciously like a moan, and his arms nearly gave out when he tried to push himself back up onto his knees. “No. I don’t. Where do they _find_ these people?”

“I told you. They recruit ex-military. Max was a buddy of mine, that’s how I found this place.” He jumped to his feet one last time and slumped back against the wall, staring at the giant digital clock face on the far side of the room. “You wanted to know what being in the army is like? Like this, at least some of the time. Come on, Sherlock. Two more, then we’ve got a minute fourty-- well, a minute twenty of rest, now, before we’re back to the kettlebells.”

Sherlock stood up to slump against the wall beside John. “John, I can’t do it again,” he said. “I won’t.” 

Just as John was about to reply, an aggressively cheerful woman bounded up to them and held her hands in the air in front of Sherlock’s face. “Fresh meat!” she exclaimed. “Doin’ great, man. Keep it up. One more round. Dont’cha feel good?” She grinned maniacally, and Sherlock stared at her hands blankly. _“High-five her, Sherlock,”_ John growled in his ear, and glared daggers at the side of Sherlock’s face until he complied and the woman strode away, grinning.

“Is everyone here lobotomized?” Sherlock muttered, having apparently recovered enough breath to be snarky. He gestured to a man who was still struggling through a set of some sort of pull-up which Sherlock had already deleted all memory of on principle. “He looks like he’s being electrocuted.”

John had to admit Sherlock had a point, and chuckled a little as he pushed himself off the wall. “And yours didn’t look even that elegant,” he reminded him. “You looked like a freshly caught fish. Quite entertaining. I have to say, I’m enjoying this little military thing of yours.”

Max’s voice boomed through the gym. Sherlock refused to refer to it as a _box_ , even internally. That was ludicrous. “TEN SECONDS!” 

He picked up his kettlebell and glanced over at John, who was getting ready for his own set. John was staring straight ahead, all business. His back was ramrod-straight and his chin held high, and Sherlock’s breath caught in his chest. Then it caught again and he started coughing, doubling over to wheeze from his exhausted abs just as Max shouted “GO!”  
Sherlock hurried to try to start swinging the damn weight like he’d been shown, determined to keep the image of Captain Watson front and centre in his mind to distract himself from the last seven minutes of torture.

Six minutes later, Sherlock noticed the rest of the class had started dropping like flies as they finished the workout, lying down on their backs as soon as they had completed their last rep and panting dramatically-- clearly only partly from the actual necessity of rest, and partly in some sort of competitive performance of exhaustion which, at the moment, seemed pretty darn good to Sherlock. 

“Oh no no no,” said John, catching Sherlock by the wrist just as he was preparing for a dramatic swoop down onto a empty stretch of filthy rubber flooring. “You don’t get to do that, soldier. No lying on the floor in the army. You’re coming with me.” 

Sherlock could almost feel his heart trying to speed up from lust and anticipation, but not quite making it any farther above the speed it was already going. He heaved in a wheezing breath and leaned into John.

“You okay?” said John, looking suddenly concerned. 

Sherlock managed to nod, and John grinned. “Not bored?”

Sherlock refused to dignify that with a response, so John gave a cheerful wave to the instructor and started leading him out of the gym. “Didn’t think so. Let’s get you home, then.”


End file.
